(You will not believe how I relate this to knitting. It’s a neat trick, if I say so myself. Read on.)
If any picture is worth a thousand words, this one is. So much going on behind the scenes here.
Event 1: On February 6, I hit the big five-five. (Still trying to wrap my head around that because it means I started this blog 12 years ago. Goodness, how things have morphed since April 21, 2003. That being said, I’m elated that the blog is still here, even if it’s limping along. It was and is one of the most important parts of my life. Plus, it truly is the gift that keeps on giving. More on that in a couple of days.)
Event 2: Fast forward a week. Big Sister Cata and her son/my nephew come up from San Diego to celebrate the five-five. (That’s my “little” nephew, Michael, in the picture, 16 years old and 6’ 4” if he’s an inch.)
Event 3: Their second day here, I hauled Cata and Michael down to the Museum of Flight, my favorite sightseeing place. That’s where we are in the picture. And, although you can’t tell, in the picture I’m feeling slightly weepy, wobbly at the knees and breathless because…Concorde. I have an all-consuming passionate and Freudian thing for the Concorde; have had since I was young. (Which, now that I think about it, doesn’t actually make sense since, well, you know…)
Event 4: Unbeknownst to us, we’d gone to the museum on the first day that the Concorde was open to the public. The jet has been here since 2003 (you can bet your sweet bippy I was at the Museum that day) but the day of our visit was the first day visitors could go inside. So that’s a photograph of me 30 seconds before I went into the Concorde (which, I realize, Freudian-wise, is a little backwards but work with me), feeling like a teenage girl going to a Beatles concert back in the day.
And yet, none of this is what this posting is about. (You know how I do—start at A, end up at Z.)
See the green thing peeking out of my hoodie pouch?
That’s my dragon, a birthday gift from Cata. He came in a box announcing that it was a Dragon Rescue Kit so his name quickly became Kit. Here he is fresh out of the box:
The next day, nothing would do but my new adoptee had to come to the Museum with us. I mean, he’s a dragon, he flies, we were going to see other things that flew…it all made perfect sense to me—and Michael and Cata amiably played along with their crazy-ass sister and aunt, with Cata even taking this second picture. (Ignore the sickly smiling-for-the-camera smile.)
(Apparently I was not cut out to for adoption, however, because within 12 hours from when these photos were taken, I lost him. And I didn’t realize it for another 24 hours so the chances of finding him were slim since we had been all over the city and environs. However, I pinned all my hopes on one slim possibility. I remembered that, after the Museum, we had gone out for dinner and I had slipped Kit into the pocket of my sweater. So I retraced our steps and, as I drove up to the spot where we had parked 36 hours before, I saw a forlorn green blob lying in the gravel. He was soaked through but otherwise no worse for the wear.)
And, if they haven't already, here is where things get a little weird because…
Yes, I have been knitting for Kit. And what a hoot it has been, too! I grubbed through my leftover yarn bits until I found the perfect ball of pastel-colored Blue Moon Silkie Socks That Rock and then churned these out in the next hour or so. The scarf—five stitches, the hat—twenty.
Socks are next I think.
And then I REALLY need to get a life.